Before the squadrons weighed a French boat left the Rear-Admiral's ship with a flag of truce for Oczakoff. She carried a reply to the request sent by the Russian general under a flag of truce the previous day, and informed him that the "major-general who had commanded in Kinburn se porte à merveille, that forty-five wounded Russians were in the French ambulances, and that the French general regretted he could not state the names of the officers who were prisoners," but he did not say whether that was owing to any difficulties in orthography or not. As the boat neared the beach, an officer, followed by two soldiers, came from the town to meet them. One of the men bore a tremendous flag of truce—there could be no Hango mistake about it; he had a large tablecloth suspended from a pole, under the weight of which he staggered as he walked. The boat touched the beach, and, with much formal bowing and martial civilities, the missive was handed to the Russian, who retired with his tablecloth waving behind him up the hill, and was lost to sight amid the houses. Two old priests scrambled down to the ruins of the fort, and, with their flowing robes and long beards, seemed like ancient prophets invoking maledictions—as no doubt they were—upon the fleet.
Early on the 20th, the French Rear-Admiral stood up Cherson Bay with the lighter vessels of his squadron before the English Admiral was aware of his intention. Soon after dawn our smaller gun-boats started in the same direction, and Rear-Admiral Sir Houston Stewart, having sent off his despatches to Sir Edmund Lyons, hoisted the signal for the large gun-boats and steam-sloops under his command to weigh anchor and follow. At nine o'clock A.M. he led the way, with his flag flying in the Stromboli, towards the confluence of the Bug and Dnieper. He was followed by the Gladiator, Spiteful, and Triton steamers, by the Wrangler, Snake, and Viper. A whole shoal of gun-boats, Boxer, Cracker, Clinker, Fancy, Grinder, &c.,—were some miles in advance, in company with the French squadron, threading their way among the intricate shoals which guard the entrance to the Dnieper.
At last, entering the mouth of the Bug, we observed some of the French squadron coming down the river, and the two Admirals met and held a conference on board the Stromboli.
The French Admiral assured Sir Houston Stewart that he had been up the river to the Spit, which extends from the western bank for some distance into the stream, at about seven miles from Ajiojhio Point on its western entrance, and that he had not seen any sign of an enemy. The Admiral resolved to have a look for himself, and proceeded slowly up the river in the Stromboli, which was followed by the small gun-boats. On both sides the banks were high, and the brown steppe, studded with herds and farmhouses, presented no object of interest. About three miles up, on the left-hand bank, we came upon a small village. Five miles up, on the right-hand bank, there was another village, with two pretty churches. There were guard stations and look-out posts on both banks. The river was three or four miles broad up to the Spit, where it narrowed considerably. The cliff was upwards of 100 feet high, and could scarcely be commanded by the guns of a ship. However, it was advisable to ascertain what defences existed on the lower part of the river till it contracted into such dimensions as would bring a ship within range from both banks. The Cracker and Grinder went on ahead, the Stromboli followed with the Admiral's flag flying, examining bearings and farm-yards at our leisure, and the Spitfire came next, engaged in her labour of sounding, and probing, and angling every bit of the earth's face and of the waters under the earth within reach of lead, glass, and compass. They were now near the Spit, and we could see the stream beyond it.
Above the Spit there was a high bank rising to the steppe behind, and at the distance of some hundred yards from the edge there was a tumulus, behind which I fancied I saw artillery. The Cracker had run on ahead, and the Grinder was just drawing on parallel with this high bank—we were all peering at it, and one officer was saying to the other, "Well! I wonder the Russians have not got a battery on that cliff"—when from a seam in its side, parallel with the water, a puff of white smoke spirted out, and the rush of a shot followed, which terminated in a splash in the water close to the side of the Grinder. "Tell Grinder he may give him a shot in reply," cried Admiral Stewart. The little Grinder, with more valour than discretion, at once put down his helm and ran in, drawing across the Stromboli, at which the enemy opened another gun at the moment. This shot fell short. And now light field-pieces, on the top of the cliffs, opened; none of the shot from the Russians had yet fallen closer than twenty yards to us. The drum beat to quarters on board the Stromboli, and the men rushed on deck in a state of high delight to clear for action; berthings were removed, and guns got ready, but Grinder being intent on doing his devoir got in our way, so that his recall was hoisted. The Stromboli slowly craned over towards the bank.
The principal work was a trench in the cliff, half-way up, and when you came to squint along a gun, and saw only four little black eyes staring at you over a parapet of earth which did not seem three inches high, you began to understand the difficulty of striking such objects. "Try 2,500 yards!" The gun was trained. At the words, "Well! Fire!" the iron globe, whose curve you could trace through the air, hurtled with the peculiar hiss of its race, over the parapet, knocking up a black pillar of earth from the crest of the hill, and bounding far away to the rear. "Too high!" The Russians replied at once. The shot flew over Captain Spratt's head, who was at the foretop, and plunged into the water 200 or 300 yards beyond us. The Muscov had been playing the game of firing short, to entice us well under his battery. Stromboli kept edging nearer, the captains of the guns were all intently gazing along their sights. "Try 2,000 yards." Away flew the iron messenger again, but he only told the Russians to bob their heads and keep out of his way, and passed behind them. Aimed "too high" again. The Spitfire, Cracker, and Grinder were now coming into action. The enemy's field-pieces took to shell, and studded the air above us with smoke-clouds, the angry hum of their splinters was heard on all sides. Whiz!—right across our deck comes a shot, and plashes into the water over our counter. Our long gun at the bow sends a shot in reply, at 1,700 yards, which goes right into their battery this time. Whiz! whiz! two shots, one after the other, one dashing up the water close to her sides, the other cutting the jib foot-rope of the Stromboli.
NICHOLAIEFF.
Sir Houston Stewart resolved to return. That there was no intention of going up to Nicholaieff with a steam-sloop, a surveying sloop, and some small gun-boats I need not say, and had the enemy been driven from the Spit ten times a day he could have returned at any time, and have constructed just such another flying defence as that with which we were engaged. Indeed, the Admiral would not have replied to the enemy's fire at all, but that Jack is dissatisfied if not permitted to return a shot whenever one is sent at him. With a parting salute, the Stromboli set her jib, slewed round, and steamed slowly down the river. The enemy continued to fire after us, but the Spitfire, Grinder, and Cracker covered the movement, and a shell from the latter burst in the earthwork, and appeared to do some mischief. As we returned towards the Liman, the Spiteful, Triton, and Arrow, which had remained off the mouth of the Bug—"an unpleasant position," said Sir Houston Stewart, "which will be appreciated by London lodgers"—were seen steaming up to us, as they apprehended that they could help us out of a scrape; but the emulative gunners had not a chance of doing anything.
The little flotilla remained at its anchorage off the Bug, for the night, without any apprehensions that the enemy from Nicholaieff could do any harm. Mr. Brooker, one of the most active and intelligent officers of the Spitfire—and that is indeed saying much, where all were so able and so willing—volunteered to go in the Cracker after dusk, to ascertain the force and position of the enemy's batteries; but it was judged inexpedient to hazard the loss of a gun-boat, which would be made a subject of great rejoicing and triumph to the enemy, while the success of the experiment would not be of much importance, inasmuch as we were not in a position to attack and occupy Nicholaieff. Had Marshal Pelissier listened to the demand of Sir Edmund Lyons for 15,000 or 20,000 men, there would, indeed, have been some utility in a reconnaissance, for the operations of our steam fleet might have mystified the enemy so completely as to enable us to land a force, and by a coup de main to destroy, though not to occupy, Nicholaieff. The town is 5,000 yards from the Spit, on the confluence of the Ingul and Bug, and it would be necessary to force batteries, booms, sunken vessels, gun-boats, in very shoal and difficult water, and get round into the Ingul itself, before the fleet could fire a shot on the place. Every vessel would have to run the gauntlet of high banks lined with riflemen which their guns could not reach.
On Sunday, 21st, in the forenoon, Church pendants were hoisted, and Divine Service according to the Church of England was duly celebrated, for the first time since Christianity blessed the earth, in the confluence of the Bug and Dnieper, within sight of the spires of many Greek orthodox churches. Afterwards, the French had a little missa solennis of their own. At 2.30 P.M., three large and one small gun-boat of their squadron got up steam and weighed. They stood straight up the river, and great was our excitement lest they should silence the battery which we had left with its teeth drawn, if not its tongue tied.